Diamonds Aren't Forever

by Connie Shelton

  Caplin pulled out his wallet and extracted one of his business cards. “Police. I’m actually after a suspect I followed here from the States. He’s tied with some men here and I’d like to catch up with him.”

  Henri dried another glass and added it to the stack of clean ones on the shelf behind him, clearly giving himself a minute before answering. Caplin studied the man’s body language, reading him as an honest businessman torn between helping the law and staying out of a situation that might cost him business.

  The cop sipped his drink while the bartender walked to the front door, locked it and turned out the neon Open sign.

  “There is one place. The owner of this estate is a good man. He fought in the war and never used his family’s position to dodge his responsibilities. They made a fortune in olive oil and Monsieur LeBlanc has been very kind to this city, always helpful to those less fortunate.”

  Caplin waited as Henri took his time.

  “It is now, I fear, the old man may have become too trusting. Some men are staying at his home while he is away in Spain, some men I do not like the looks of. Etienne LeBlanc told me it was the nephew of his oldest, dearest friend.” He shrugged. “I do not know. One of them could be his friend’s relative, but the rest … these do not seem of the same—how do you say?—the same caliber?”

  “Where is Mr. LeBlanc’s home, the place these men are staying?”

  Henri tipped his head to the right. “Just up the mountain there. It is a large estate and the main house sits at the very top. A most spectacular view. When I began the restaurant twenty years ago, Etienne entertained more frequently. We catered many lovely parties there, tres belle.”

  Caplin swallowed the last of his whiskey. “Thanks. I appreciate the information.” He left a generous tip and Henri let him out.

  Okay, he thought as the cool night breeze hit him. Breaking out a back window in a small house on my own, I’m not opposed to, but storming an estate with who knows how many master thieves … especially if this really is the lair of the Golden Tiger ring … Interpol needs to know about this.

  Chapter 78

  The bedside clock read 2:10 when Pen finally switched off the light and closed her eyes. After Amber’s discovery of the LeBlanc estate, excitement had roared through the room like a tsunami. Ideas coalesced into plans, plans required supplies, shopping lists were made.

  While Gracie and Sandy wrote lists covering every foreseen eventuality, Amber browsed for more information on the Golden Tigers. Their technique, it seemed, involved storming large jewelry stores and high-end boutiques and sweeping up as much as they could in a quick haul. But there were a few individual victims as well. A woman, whose diamond ring had been in the family five generations, had been held at gunpoint and the ring taken when she happened to be standing in one of the targeted shops; a Fabergé egg from a private collection was suspected to be in the hands of the notorious thieves after being taken in a home burglary. The case sounded suspiciously like the situation with Penelope’s necklace.

  “If we get in there and find your necklace,” Amber told Pen, “I want to look for these other things too. What these guys are doing—hurting old people—it’s just wrong.” She looked up at Pen. “Sorry, not saying you’re old or anything.”

  Pen chuckled. “I suppose I am, to your generation. But that’s okay. We seniors know a few things too.” She flexed a muscle to show she wasn’t exactly decrepit.

  As research for one of her books, she’d met with a locksmith and learned the fine art of picking a variety of locks. Assuming the thieves would not leave a fortune alone in a building without such measures, she’d surprised the group by describing exactly what types of lock picks she would need. Now, she smiled to herself and rolled over to sleep a few hours.

  By noon they’d begun their quest. First, a rental car as it became apparent public transportation had its limits. As Amber pointed out, there was no cool way to make a hasty escape on a bus.

  Gracie drove the little four-seat Peugeot, first on a drive-by around the property where they discovered the perimeter walls to be much more formidable than shown from the aerial map. They casually cruised up the winding road, just a group of ladies out for the day, until they came to a heavy steel gate. A thuggish man wearing a pistol stepped out of the guardhouse and scowled.

  “Oh, like, wow. Sorry! We thought this was, like, the way to the beach,” Amber called out in her best ditzy-girl imitation.

  She stuck her head back inside and Gracie did a quick turn-around.

  “So, no approaching from the front, I suppose,” Sandy said in a shaky voice.

  “At least we learned that they’ve got a guy on duty there,” Amber said, staring at her laptop.

  “I assume an armed guard isn’t the norm,” Pen said beside her. “Did you notice the keypad and intercom? And the guard house was not well maintained. I don’t think someone is normally there. Drivers come up, state their name, or enter a code.”

  “So maybe the estate’s owner is away and these thieves have commandeered use of the place?”

  “Or they know someone. I suppose we can’t very well go back and ask.”

  “Right,” said Amber. “We have to go with what we can learn. Right now, our clues have to come from this photo.”

  Chapter 79

  Bill Caplin explained it once again. Most of the day had passed while the local gendarmes got organized and coordinated with the newly arrived men from Interpol. Apparently, a joint operation was tricky to plan. He stifled his frustration. As a detective, he usually showed up at a crime scene after the action was done, the crime committed, the suspects gone and the victims left behind. It was not his usual forte to participate in a raid, so he had no choice but to bow to the others. Plus, he was so far out of his jurisdiction it wasn’t even funny.

  Here it was, nine p.m., and the teams had just been mustered and now the commanding officer was laboriously going through the facts, including what Caplin learned from the bartender the night before.

  “Etienne LeBlanc, owner of the estate, has apparently allowed the nephew of an old friend to use his home while he is away on a business trip. Our surveillance team has identified two known members of the Golden Tigers and we believe their leader, Andrej Lubnic, is holed up there as well. Lubnic is considered armed and dangerous. He escaped Fresnes Prison a month ago and vanished, which coincides with the timing when we believe he may have arrived here. Another two members of the gang were seen lurking around the gem show two nights ago, along with an American, identified by Detective Caplin here,” a nod in Bill’s direction, “as a suspect he followed from Arizona.”

  An Interpol man stepped up. “Our raid must take place when they least expect it. We must act quickly, as it’s believed their plan is to rob the gem show tomorrow and if their methodology remains the same, they will scatter and become impossible to track for months, if not years to come.”

  A second Interpol officer took the lead, using a pointer to draw attention to a chart he had affixed to an easel. The drawing showed a diagram of the property.

  “Here—” he said with a tap, “is the entry gate. It is heavy steel, mounted on stone columns and a stone wall surrounds the entire twenty acres owned by LeBlanc. At the gate is a guard house which is manned twenty-four hours a day by armed guards. These must be gang members, as LeBlanc does not use guards when he is in residence.

  “Our plan, therefore, is to simultaneously take out the guard or guards and bash down the gate with a ramming vehicle.”

  “Won’t that create a lot of noise?” asked one of the men in dark clothing.

  “It will. At that point, we must move with utmost speed toward the house.”

  Privately, Caplin thought they would be better off to quietly disable the guard and find the automatic switch that surely existed to open the gate. But this was not his baby. He sat through the rest of the briefing and followed along when the commander assigned him a vehicle.

  As he had explained from the begi
nning, his job was to take the American suspect into custody and recover an item belonging to a victim in his home jurisdiction. He only hoped Frank Morrell didn’t start yapping away about Caplin’s own involvement in the crime. He really needed to get the sleazy con man alone.

  Chapter 80

  Black sky dotted with stars, no sliver of moonlight to guide them, the Heist Ladies parked at a turnout on the curving road to the mansion. Pen carried her set of lock picks. Gracie hefted the emergency evacuation rope ladder they’d purchased earlier. Each of the four carried a small flashlight. It was nearly three a.m.

  “Here’s the path,” Amber whispered, taking the lead, relying on her memory of the aerial photo she’d studied until it was imprinted on her brain.

  The other three followed the beam of her tiny light as she shined it on the ground. The ‘path’ was actually a game trail, most likely made by the small deer that roamed the hillsides. It was no more than eight inches wide, frequently bisected by exposed roots and jutting rocks. They had less than two hours until daylight would expose them. Two hours to climb the six-hundred foot hill, scale the wall, break in, retrace every step and get back to their car. Although they’d endlessly discussed the pros and cons of choosing the correct hour, every step of the plan had taken longer than anticipated and now here they were. It is what it is, as Sandy said.

  From the photo, she knew they would have to leave the path after about two hundred yards and make their way through underbrush. She hoped the wall would be in view by then. Meanwhile, she kept a close eye on her wristband step monitor to calculate the distance. At one-hundred-eighty yards she shined her flashlight ahead.

  There it was, the wall.

  Next in line, Gracie spotted it and nodded. Passed the word back to Pen, then to Sandy. They headed off the trail trying, not too successfully, to be careful of dry twigs and other noisemakers. Pen cringed at every sound, certain their rustle through the woods was being heard by everyone in the big house. At last they came to the wall. Smiles all around—from the car it had taken only twenty minutes so far.

  It stood about ten feet high, and their spirits lagged. It had been impossible to tell the height from the aerial photo and they had held out hope that it would be no more than a garden wall, something they could easily hop over, but that was why they’d purchased the ladder—just in case.

  The ladder was one of those sold for emergency home fire evacuation, with two sturdy metal arms to hook over a windowsill and wooden rungs held in place by ropes knotted at intervals. The big question now—how thick was the wall? If it was some medieval thing three feet wide, they were screwed.

  “Let me scope it out,” Amber said. “Give me a boost.”

  Gracie stepped up, twined her fingers for the smallest member of the group to step on and gave a heave to get Amber to the top of the wall. Amber gripped the stone and hefted herself up.

  “Good news,” she whispered, straddling the top, “it’s not too wide.”

  It wasn’t exactly flat on top either and she found herself constantly rebalancing. In the distance she could see outdoor lighting around the mansion, but the house was a good hundred-fifty yards away. She saw no interior lights.

  “Toss me the ladder.”

  Gracie gripped the top of the piece, making sure to send the hooking device first. Her first toss missed but Amber caught it on the second throw. She hooked the metal arms over the wall and tested it by climbing down. She issued instructions in a whisper.

  “It’s secure enough, I think. Once you get to the top you’ll have to drop to the ground. There are shrubs—I have no idea what kind—hopefully not thorny ones. I’ll sit at the top to help. Once we’re all over the top, I’ll position the ladder the other way so we can get back out.”

  Good thing Amber had considered that part of it, Pen thought.

  Amber climbed to the top, testing the rungs to set them firmly in place. Once again, she straddled the wall and then motioned for Gracie to follow.

  “Ow!” Gracie let out when she hit the large bush below. “Well, at least it was softer than the ground,” she stage-whispered to Amber.

  Sandy followed, then Pen. The others waited to assist with the landing. Amber repositioned the ladder, cringing at the thunk of wooden rungs hitting stone wall.

  “The mausoleum is right over there,” she said when she joined the group.

  Keeping their lights pointed directly at the ground, they approached the fifteen-foot-square stone building from the back. They knew the opening faced toward the mansion and they kept to the soft patch of trimmed grass that grew around the small edifice.

  Now, Gracie took the lead, edging around the building until she could see the mansion and the pathway lights leading from it to the mausoleum. All seemed quiet until she heard a voice not ten feet away.

  Chapter 81

  Caplin began to feel faintly carsick as the Interpol van wound its way up the mountain road. The van was the last of four vehicles; ahead were a car with the commander and Interpol chief, a Humvee with a special metal ramming grid on the front, and another van with eight armed SWAT members. His place was merely to watch the action for now; he and the French gendarmes would come in to make arrests once the location was secure and any live fire was finished.

  Ahead, the lead car had stopped. He pressed forward to get to a window and some fresh air. The van driver and another officer were conversing rapidly in French and he saw the man outside gesture toward a car sitting in a turnout. Apparently they decided not to worry about it; the other guy got back into the lead car and the little procession began to move.

  “Tourist rental car,” the driver said. “Probably out of gas. They do it all the time.”

  About a mile from the end of the curving road, the four vehicles rolled to a stop and switched off their lights. Any closer, they risked being seen or heard well in advance. The guard would surely alert the entire household to anyone approaching at three in the morning.

  Four men in black clothing and bulletproof vests jumped from the van ahead and quickly moved up the road toward the speck of light coming from the guard house. The Humvee had moved to center-of-road, ready to coast forward as soon as the radio call cleared it.

  Caplin tensed. Any moment now all hell could break loose.

  Chapter 82

  Gracie froze at the sound of the male voice. She held out a hand behind her, signaling the others to halt. A guard, right at the door to the mausoleum. They hadn’t expected one although the thought flashed through her mind that it made perfect sense. This had to be where the treasure was kept. When she heard a lengthy yawn, she ventured a peek around the corner.

  One man with a rifle. He sat on the stone step with his back to the heavy wooden door, his weapon lying on the ground but within easy reach. She whipped out of sight when he turned his head. He didn’t look terribly alert.

  The other three ladies stood in place, barely breathing. Gracie gathered them close, breathed the words: “One man, gun, sleepy. What shall we do?”

  “Lure him out, seduce him,” Amber suggested.

  “Not me—you seduce him,” Gracie whispered back.

  Pen cupped her flashlight to diminish the light, aiming it at the ground. Staying to the soft grass, she backed away.

  A groan came from the guard as he shifted position on the hard stone surface. Gracie risked another peek.

  From the other side of the building, Pen emerged with a hefty tree limb in hand. The man blinked, noticing Gracie for the first time. Pen raised the branch and, without a second’s hesitation, gave the guard a quick whack to the head. His body went limp.

  “Wow,” Pen said. “I’ve written that scene a bunch of times but never knew what it would feel like to do it. Kind of icky.”

  “Considering he was reaching for the rifle, kind of good you did it. Go, Pen,” Gracie said.

  “Come on,” Sandy said. “He didn’t have time to alert anyone but that doesn’t mean they don’t check on him.”

  “She’
s right. Throw his weapon into the bushes and get him out of the way,” Pen said. She tossed the tree branch aside and pulled her lock picks from her pocket.

  The ancient lock on the heavy door posed no problem at all, but the modern deadbolt above it took an excruciating amount of time to open. Pen worked patiently with the tiny torsion wrench and hook pick while Sandy held a light for her. Amber and Gracie watched their unconscious guard while keeping alert for any lights or movement at the house.

  It was the longest three minutes of their lives.

  Chapter 83

  Caplin had to get out of the stuffy van or risk losing the dinner he’d eaten hours ago. He watched the vague shadows of the black-clad men quickly disappear against the backdrop of trees that lined the road as he stretched his legs and breathed deeply of the clean air. Radio chatter fed into ear buds but in the van the commander monitored their progress via a receiver unit Caplin could overhear. Minutes ticked by. Reports were deliberately kept minimal.

  “Approaching gate. Two guards,” came a rasping whisper.

  Everyone around the commander tensed. Alert was what you did as a police officer.

  Caplin thought of the house at the top of this hill. Police attention was wholly focused on the Golden Tigers, the hope they could break up the gang with full-scale arrests and recovery of a haul of stolen loot. His concentration remained on his American quarry, Frank Morrell.

  He thought of what he’d said to Penelope Fitzpatrick, how he wanted to return her necklace to her and get the chance to send Morrell to prison. Standing here now, however, he wondered at the possibility of getting Morrell off to himself and retrieving the cash he knew the con man had collected by selling the million-dollar piece. There might still be a nice retirement in this for himself. He was savoring that thought when gunfire broke out.